


Fluorite

by wednesday



Series: WDLF wednesday [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Coffee, Crossover, Gen, Inquisitor Tony Stark, M/M, Mentions of Dragon Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-06 22:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: Dorian does not expect to see the Herald so soon after parting ways in Redcliffe.





	Fluorite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penknife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/gifts).

The first inn Dorian deems far enough from Redcliffe to escape everyone’s notice seems pleasantly empty in the evening. He’s not much inclined to look around, however, since he’s desperate for a bath and some sleep, no preference what order he gets them in. 

The morning turns out to be a lot more exciting. By the time Dorian walks down to the main room that resembles a barn filled with tables and chairs more than anything, it’s already close to noon. A bored-looking innkeeper is knitting or doing some such thing with needles that look more deadly than most swords Dorian’s seen. 

The surprising part is the Herald of Andraste himself and the dwarf from the chantry sitting at one of the tables in the far corner. 

Honestly, Dorian does a double take when he notices them. 

There are notes scattered in two distinct piles all over the table, and the dwarf looks immersed in whatever he’s writing. The Herald, on the other hand, seems to pay no mind to his own set of notes and instead is examining his gauntleted hand closely. They both look relaxed, quite unlike people worrying about their approaching demise at the hand of Magister Alexius. 

The rest of the place looks empty, so there’s no real way for Dorian to get closer without being noticed. Instead, he heads to the innkeeper and orders the few foodstuffs he’s found somewhat palatable in Ferelden, all the while listening to the conversation that carries quite well. 

“What if we freeze them? Is the heat a necessary life function or like a defense mechanism?” 

“They’re demons, Shiny, they don’t strictly speaking have life functions.” 

“False, they die if you hit them with pointy sticks enough times. So, freezing them solid – yes or no?” 

“I’ve never heard of any ice magic strong enough to freeze a rage demon.” 

“You know we don’t use the m word, Gimli. And that’s quitter talk anyway – I could whip something up, a freeze ray gun, something pressurized – do you even have hydrofluoric acid here, is that a thing? I’d need a metric ton for enough freeze guns with the amount of lava demons around, but any at all would be great for my repairs. Upgrades, I’m doing upgrades, if I can get the acid,” the Herald makes some gesture at the strange gauntlet on his arm. 

Dorian marvels at his ability to go on so long without running out of air. The Herald, who seemed aware of the seriousness of the threat in Redcliffe, being so carefree now fans the flames of Dorian’s anger. Dorian can barely sleep for how worried he is for Felix and the consequences of magic that was only ever meant to be theoretical. 

He pays for another night, since it doesn’t look like there’s any reason to hurry on to Haven any more. 

“Still no idea what you’re talking about,” the dwarf says without looking away from his notes. 

“You know, acid, dissolves oxides? Glass, too, and you know, flesh and bones, if you’re not good at safety regulations.” 

“Sounds familiar. Pretty sure they use some kind of dragon blood draught for that in the mines.” 

“You did not just say that to me. Seriously, dragon blood?” The Herald makes a disgusted expression that in other circumstances Dorian might find adorable. 

“Dragon blood.” 

In the silence that follows, Dorian takes his subpar cup of coffee and makes his way towards the one occupied table. 

“...how hard is it to kill a dragon? How much blood do they have on average? Do you know how it’s distilled into components?” 

“You’re better off hitting the rage demons with pointy sticks, Shiny. The only thing I know how to distill,” the dwarf retrieves a flask from some secret pocket and offers it to the Herald, eyes still glued to his own notes. The Herald takes a swig out of the flask and proceeds to silently suffocate. 

Dorian is tempted to wait and watch, but a dead Herald wouldn’t do him any good, so he presses his own cup into Stark’s hands with a scoff. 

“I know I’m breathtaking, but really there’s no need for this,” he says, because he’s not in a mood to say what he really thinks. 

“Holy _fuck_,” the Herald says between gasps after he’s washed whatever was in the flask with some of Dorian’s coffee. “What the hell is _in this_?” 

For the first time in this conversation the dwarf looks up confused and then his face rapidly morphs into very alarmed. 

“Did you drink that? That’s for weapons, not drinking!” 

“What is wrong with you? Why would you–” the Herald coughs some more, and Dorian starts considering what antidotes he has on hand. The dwarf doesn’t look as concerned as someone that’s just accidentally poisoned their Herald should, though. 

“Fuck,” the Herald says and breathes deeply for a minute. Then, “Wait,” he brings Dorian’s cup to his mouth again, “is this coffee?” He asks it like it’s meaningful in some way, and his expression is serious as he looks from Dorian to the dwarf and back. 

“_My_ coffee,” Dorian reminds him. 

“Are you saying that all this time there was coffee available in middle earth and nobody told me?” 

“Don’t know what you want me to tell you here,” the dwarf says. “You never asked.” The Herald looks more offended than a Magister whose parentage Dorian once took the time to artfully insult. 

“You’re no longer my favorite,” the Herald says and turns to Dorian. The dwarf huffs and returns to his writing. 

“So, Herald, I can’t help but notice–” Dorian starts, but is interrupted. 

“Yeah, that’s not going to work, call me Tony. Or Stark. Or literally anything else,” The expression of distaste when Dorian calls him Herald looks real enough. Interesting. 

“Anything?” Dorian asks, his eyebrow raised suggestively before he even thinks of it, because honestly, who could possibly let that kind of opening pass by? 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Stark says, but the look in his eyes is too intense to be uninterested. 

“If you insist, Stark.” Dorian looks down at the notes on the table. They resemble architect’s plans more than anything, and there’s a set of jeweller's tools scattered among them. “I can’t help but notice you’re not on your way to Haven. Did you change your mind about dealing with the venatori?” 

If so, Dorian needs to head back immediately and figure out how to deal with this on his own. He feels a wave of helpless desperation at the thought, but it’s nothing new by now. He helped develop the time magic, he’ll find a way to disable it, Inquisition or no Inquisition. 

“Yeah, no, we’re doing that. Didn’t we have this conversation already? I remember having this conversation with you.” 

“And yet here you are, not in a hurry to deal with it.” Dorian knows he should tone down the accusation in his voice, but he’s tired and frankly, he’s been expecting to find a reason to absolutely hate Stark since he first heard of him. 

“I’m not spending a week walking up that mountain just to listen to some people shout at each other and then come back down again. I’m waiting right here until our benevolent overlord texts us our plan. Sends it with a bird. Whatever.” 

“Speaking of,” the dwarf interjects, “I’ll go send Red my report. Behave yourself.” With that he gathers all his papers in a neat pile and leaves the table. Dorian stays quiet and watches Stark poke his gauntlet with tools in seemingly random places until the dwarf disappears out the door. 

“You’re staring,” Stark says after another minute. There’s no disapproval in his voice, it sounds like he’s stating a fact. 

“You have lovely hands,” Dorian says, which is true, but also an excellent way to unnerve someone in his experience. Stark doesn’t look unnerved at all, only makes some kind of neutral sound. “What happens if your friends in Haven disagree with you about Magister Alexius?” 

Stark grimaces faintly and looks up, his eyes on Dorian completely serious for once. “Then I figure out how to do it on my own,” he says, and he looks like he completely means it. “I’m good at improvising.” 

“An interesting stance, especially for someone who announced in front of half of Val Royeaux that he wants nothing to do with ‘all this magic bullshit’.” At that Stark grimaces again and runs a hand through his admittedly excellent hair. 

“First of all, I didn’t announce it, it was a completely private conversation that happened to take place in Val Royeaux.” 

Very likely, actually, considering the Orlesians are bigger gossips than the bored nobles back at home, but it doesn’t change the fact Dorian expected the Herald of Andraste to be wearing a flaming sword on his armor. 

“And secondly, magic being bullshit doesn’t mean I’m going to leave all those people to their fates or let some crazy old guy break the timespace.” 

“Oh, Alexius is a lot more dangerous than some crazy old guy,” Dorian warns, but Stark only waves it away, like he knows but isn’t worried. 

Another minute of silence and Stark suddenly throws his hands up in frustration and throws the tools he was using on the table. 

“This is archaic and I’ve worked in a cave in the desert before. I can’t take any more of this.” He sweeps all his notes up and gets up. “Well, come on, show me where the coffee is,” he says and looks at Dorian with a hopeful expression. He looks younger like that, and now that he’s standing, a beam of light from a high window hits his eyes and makes them look like liquid amber. 

Well. 

“Certainly. I’d never stand in the way of coffee. You owe me a new one, in case it's slipped your mind,” Dorian reminds him. Stark's expression turns more intent at that, and his smile sharper in a way that Dorian wants to fall into. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Green](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750430) by [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday)


End file.
